


Look Into My Psyche

by InterGalacticKnight



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Crying, M/M, Not Beta Read, kinda sad, two dudes having deep emotional bonds, wrote this in the span of two days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InterGalacticKnight/pseuds/InterGalacticKnight
Summary: Price knows Johns mind is hanging heavy with the guilt of Simon and Gary getting harmed by Shepard’s betrayal and waits for the younger man to come to him seeking comfort he will endlessly provide.
Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/John Price
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Look Into My Psyche

**Author's Note:**

> This is vaguely a vent but also a writing practice.  
I think in my opinion Soap would carry a lot of weight and worry for what happened to Simon and Gary wether they lived or not.  
I also think Price would notice this and knows that Soap has a harder time detaching himself from the guilt like he can 
> 
> Written to Number by Daughter, it inspired this fic.

Price let his fingers connect to the cigar that hung between his lips, the ambers at the top of it had a glow strong enough to faintly illuminate his face in the dark room. The air felt stagnant, heavy, it dropped with invisible black oil that made it hard to breath even without the smoke now starting to fill it. 

He was tired, really tired but all he wanted was to sit here and wait. It wouldn’t be much longer, the other man always came around this time to enter the room and softly shut the door. Walk over to the bed with sock covered feet that hardly made a sound, this was an intentional choice, then he would seat himself next to Price and gesture for the cigar to be passed. 

With the click of the lock in the door knob being removed from its resting place Price let his eyes shift to make sure the person coming in was who he suspected, hoped for. There he stood, hair still styled in its usual mow-hawk, eyes tired and forming bags under them a man his age shouldn’t have, nothing but a t-shirt and plain gray pajama pants with black socks.

He entered and shut the door just as softly as he had opened it, the sound of the lock clicking back in place hitting Prices ears. The man turned from the door and made his way over but rather go to his usual spot he moved to stand in front of the redhead, hands gripped as fists at his sides. Prices mind flagged the fact the routine was being broken and he paid great attention to it. 

Looking up he watched as the other mans eyes, that were just vaguely visible in the moonlight seeping in the window, started to form a glassy sheen that made their blue hue so much more- delicate. Price couldn’t find a word that phrased how they looked like proper diamonds that god himself formed from the souls of angels. 

“I fucked everything up.” 

No, not at all, you didn’t mess anything up. You did what you thought was best and you acted how anyone else would have- how I would have. You acted so amazingly I was stunned anyone in this whole shabby shit show could find a blasted thing to damn you for. 

But all Price did was shake his head, his hand came up and took the cigar from his mouth, the weight felt good in between his calloused fingers but it didn’t last long as he smothered it in the ashtray on his bedside table. “No.” He uttered and let out a small cough to clear his throat then turned his gaze back up to the now shaking man. 

“You didn’t, love.” Price debated dropping his hand back in his lap but instead he gripped one of those shaking fists, feeling the way the muscles relaxed under his touch as the fingers uncurled from their grip to become soft and pliable for Price to slip his own in between. 

“Ghost is hurt bad and hardly stayin’ awake, Roach too- he’s damn near dead.” He shook his head and tore his gaze away from the older mans and let his brain flirt with the idea of just leaving this room now before his bad luck got this man hurt too. He was a cursed object, some wicked weapon that brought bad omens upon every misfortunate soul to bear its chest in open and unyielding viscera to his eyes and hands. 

“That’s not your fault, John.” Price said lowly as he let his other hand come up and find a place on the mans hip where he let his thumb rub the flesh their in small circles. The redhead felt like he could endlessly promise over and over again to the man in front of him that he did nothing wrong and it still would miss every mark. 

Like John was suspended in a perpetual omnipotent mindset that in this one circumstance of true genuine mistaken planning he had somehow inherently set himself up and his whole team- even though it was much the contrary. It was a gruesome ideology that the older man knew MacTavish was battering himself with, giving his mind not an ounce of true grievance rather relentless punishment. 

While it wasn’t secret all the 141 members, some more then others like Simon, knew they had a purpose here sheerly for the fact they held not an ounce of hesitation on killing and had hardly an inch of fear of death. Their brutal and unwavering nature towards the divinely violent acts humans so often found themselves committing far too outlandish and foolhardy to pass anywhere else. Others were here for other things, be it their talents in some areas that shown more resilient then other people in their same field or their ability to lead better then seasoned people twice their age. 

Where Price made faults, John filled them with rivers that were slow and easy flowing giving an easy rite of passage so long as the person crossing thought enough to swim or build a boat. Not all solutions to Prices happenstance thinking were easy two steppers, but John found ways and made them work for himself and their team. John shown most in his uncannily amendable light, never being one to silence the suggestions of the men around him, that was one of Prices biggest faults. 

Price would be a mess without this man and he made that so evident yet why was this man standing here so candor in the face with hot fresh tears on his cheeks muttering about how he couldn’t fix anything. Price pulled the hand he had been holding to his lips and pressed his lips to the cold flesh on the back of it in an act of pure benevolence, John was always so cold, it made no sense for someone so warm. 

Price moved to wrap his arms around Johns torso to pull the smaller man close, this seemed to break the brunette from his trance as he stopped his discombobulated rambling to wrap his arms around Prices head. Price scooted back on the bed to pull the other man into his lap, who himself wasted no time seating himself in the older mans lap and locking his ankles behind the mans back. 

Johns head dipped to rest between the junction or Prices neck and shoulder, a long breath he didn’t notice he was holding floating free from his lungs causing the red headed man to shudder and tighten his grip for a moment. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, John.” Price moved his hands to slip under the fabric of the shirt MacTavish had on, he let his fingers curl as he began moving his hands in slow methodical circles on the other mans back. The older mans heart hurt, he could feel the stress in Johns body like a live wire on his bare skin that was amped up to unfathomable levels. 

John swallowed the lump in his throat, it made more welled tears fall from his eyes in a brisk cacophony. His mind was racing, he didn’t know what to think or feel in this moment, everything that came into his mind was tossed around and his brain didn’t even bother humoring the idea that logical thinking should be used at times like this. 

For someone praised for being such a good leader and solider he sure felt like he was off the rails. He wrapped his arms around Price in return, fixaiting his grip on the body of the other man like a feather binding him to earth if by only small threads. John was searching for something but he hadn’t the damndest clue as to what it was- or if he found it would it even satiate this insatiable hunger he felt. 

“I just want it to end.” The shorter man mumbled this, his voice brazenly unconfident with these words. Like stringing together phrases from a book of words he had never put together before, sentences that had never been birthed from his soul before. 

It was so unlike him and every inch of his very being wondered if Price noticed that. 

Price let out a rumble of a “hm” and nodded his head gently as to signify his distant connotations with that phrase. Price had his fair share of wanting things to end, the gulag being one, however he never really let his mind mull over all of that too much. He tried not to be melancholy over the past, figuring it did his mind no good to be burdened with past issues when the indefinite future could hold many more. 

He was much more of an introverted man then he let on, it was a mask that he always wore except in the presence of him and his own mind. Price leaned back and moved his hands to grip Johns chin to lock their eyes together, it was a connection formed often between them, and it served as a hotline for personal connections as far as anything went. 

When eyes locked on eyes it was like two open windows aimed directly at one another, both showing totally different worlds but the same breeze passing through one and into the other seamlessly. Prices thumb moved to rub a stray tear off Johns cheek that was red with a flush that always blossomed on the younger mans face when he cried like this. There was a tinge or trepidation to the gesture on Johns behalf, like even though he knew he was safe in Prices grip and had nothing to fear in this cage of bones he called his lover- he still shook with a seemingly unshakable uneasiness. 

The older man studied MacTavish in that moment, scanning all his features and mentally mapping them out. John was so young, so brilliant for being so young, and it was unfortunate that he couldn’t be like every other man his age with mental prowess in a collage but rather on a battlefield. Stuck in places he didn’t fit with people that didn’t fit in with him, the only thing he ever insinuates still enjoying from civilian life in this hell is the waft of petrichor through the room when he leaves the windows open and let’s droplets of rain coat the walls and floors. 

Sometimes Price struggled painting the mental image of MacTavish in a bloody mess in some snowy tundra, hands shaking and gripped on a gun while his heaving breaths formed a sky of clouds around him- all fueled by frustration and possibly the aftermath of him letting the smallest bit of what remaining naivety was in his body. He shouldn’t be in this war, he could be drinking coffee with an also very young Simon and Gary in some cheap cafe down the road from a university, the three of them in some vivacious environment where their biggest worry was if cup noodles were on sale. 

All of them dressed in comfortable civilian clothes and not scratchy military issue clothes that made all of them look bulky and uncomfortable. Just them, laughing and being young adults and enjoying the bustle of life and the innocence of never knowing what a grenade sounded like and having soft hands uncalloused by guns. How quixotic of the redhead to think these things, to imagine this idealistic life where these men had some salvation from this war. 

“You listen here.” Price muttered as he leaned their foreheads together, connecting their minds ruminating any good and soft thoughts he had to hopefully flow into Johns head. “This shit isn’t easy, I get that more then anyone, but you can’t let that stop you, love.” The bond their eyes held in that moment was ephemeral and was briefly broken as Johns eyes began to peruse Prices facial features. 

“You can’t let that get under your skin because I have and it ate at me every bloody damn day.” He swallowed and paid mind to the small nod that John motioned “Simon and Gary will be okay. If it wasn’t for your utterly brilliant foresight they wouldn’t have escaped all that with enough life to get here.” Price spoke with more mindfulness this time. Truly at this point the whole mess had dipped it’s toes into a pond of irrevocably, though there was nary a chance to lament about such. 

“If I could make all of this easier for you I would do it in a heartbeat John, utterly no hesitation on my end.” MacTavish blinked a few times, eyelashes scintillate with fresh tears and it made Price yearn to press his lips against them but he held his spot. 

“But never doubt yourself again, you are so damn amazin’ sweetheart.” Price leaned forward and connected his lips to the heated flesh of Johns cheek, lingering there for a small moment that bridged on tender revere, he moved back and pulled John into his arms. One wrapping around the smaller mans shoulders and his other hand coming to pull the others head forward to tuck it into the nape of his neck. 

He felt John relax against him and it gave him a wash of relief as he pressed soft pecks along the mans neck and clothed shoulder. His mind wondering if there was a small inch of sanguine in any of this. John sat there still and unmoving, his mind in a transcendent balance of calm and unwavering love. He wanted to stay like this forever, and utterly disregard the fact that in the next few days they would be back out on the field looking for Makarov and Shepard. 

MacTavish lifted his head and moved it forward to softly connect his lips to Prices, the older man flinched slightly but only because the tenderness of the other man always took him by slight surprise, every other time they had ever kissed had been overflowing with vehement intent. Though Price didn’t hesitate to push back into it with the same adoration it was delivered to him with, his heart swelling in his chest as their lips moved together in a slow vivacious dance only they could do. 

They both held the kiss for a moment more before they broke apart, Johns cheeks hot again with tears but his mouth in a smile so wide and authentic the older man was confused on the conflict of emotion painted on the brunettes face. 

“I love you so much.”

Johns voice was so soft, so eloquent, there was no rush in the words that were said so feather light that the air that carried them could have been mistaken for helium. Though the weight those words carried was gargantuan, they weighed more then any airplane soldiers jumped out of, any boat sailors took across the sea. 

They could crush the wrong person hearing them, but not Price. They filled his soul with the heavy promise that even if everyone turned their backs on him right now, left him for dead, he would still have this man there looking for him and scouring the ends of the earth for him, even if the possibility all he would find is a corpse. 

“I love you too.” 

Price smiled, and pulled John back into his embrace. Their souls were so intertwined, they stared into each other’s psyche, they were one whole person split into two bodies just waiting to finally be able to fully reconnect. 

Oh how awful wars are they direct our attention from the fact that so much love blooms from them.


End file.
